


Where Only Light is Required

by temperamental_mistress



Series: A Shower of Sparks [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Breaking and Entering, Canon Era, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11823783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temperamental_mistress/pseuds/temperamental_mistress
Summary: “My friend, I have a favor to ask.”Though he smiled automatically, Bossuet felt something sink in his gut. For Courfeyrac to wait for a private moment to ask, this was likely not a small favor.





	Where Only Light is Required

Bossuet contemplated the steady downpour from the doorway of the Musain. Though the day had been endlessly sunny, the weather had turned during the course of the evening’s meeting. Naturally, he had neither hat nor umbrella to keep his head dry on the long walk to Joly’s. At a tap on his shoulder, he turned, surprised to find Courfeyrac standing beside him. “I thought you had gone with Combeferre.”  
  
“No, he plans to study this evening, and I’ve no wish to be involved,” he shuffled his feet and fidgeted like a child pining after sweets. “My friend, I have a favor to ask.”  
  
Though he smiled automatically, Bossuet felt something sink in his gut. For Courfeyrac to wait for a private moment to ask, this was likely not a small favor. “Ask away, though I can’t promise how much help I will be.”  
  
“Do you recall that pamphlet Enjolras had asked me to copy?”  
  
He did. Courfeyrac had been working on it for nearly a week. “You know I can’t read his handwriting. Better to ask Combeferre, I would think.”  
  
“No, no. It’s not that.” Again, Courfeyrac fidgeted, and Bossuet spotted a burst of sparks, “You see, I may have…misplaced it.”  
  
Now they came to the truth of it. He shook his head, “I can’t help you. I haven’t seen the pamphlet myself, only heard you complain about it.” The restriction was a nuisance most of the time, but a lucky loophole on occasion.  
  
“It’s not the pamphlet I need you to find.”  
  
“You just said—”  
  
“I hid it inside my notebook, the little black one. I know you have seen it before. Marius mistook it for his and lost it somewhere.”  
  
Bossuet sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He knew exactly which notebook Courfeyrac meant. “You understand what you are asking me to do?”  
  
“I do,” he said, face graver than Bossuet had seen it in some time. “But this is of the utmost importance, my friend. That pamphlet is full of revolutionary thought, and that notebook is full of my _name_. I would not ask if it were not the most dire of situations.”  
  
It was not a small favor. Any use of magic was risky, but for Bossuet it was more complicated. He could not hide his sparks like Enjolras, could not work so subtly as Combeferre. Since Joly’s last encounter with the police, he had been more cautious about using his magic. As he looked at Courfeyrac, however, Bossuet knew it was a risk he would have to take. If someone else found the notebook, it would put them all in danger.  
  
He extended a hand, letting rain pool in his palm, “If we are lucky, the rain will let up overnight. Meet me at Joly’s first thing tomorrow.”  


* * *

  
  
Luck was with them, and dawn brought clear skies and streets filled with puddles. Bossuet kissed a still sleeping Joly, and bid Musichetta farewell before meeting Courfeyrac at the door. They exchanged their greetings and pleasantries, but both knew their time was limited. The street was mercifully empty, but it would not stay that way for long.  
  
Bossuet held a picture of Courfeyrac and his notebook in his mind, remembering the last time he’d seen the man with it at the Musain. He let his magic flow down through his body and out through the toes of his boots. It seeped into the cracks between the cobblestones like liquid gold, spreading outward in every direction. After a moment, it collected itself into a single, coherent stream of light leading down the street. Unless someone looked very closely, they would think it was just sunlight reflecting off the surface of a puddle.  
  
“Tell me about the opera,” he said, adjusting his coat. He made a point of never looking down at his feet, lest he draw attention to what he was doing. Only long practice had taught him to watch for the light at the edges of his vision.  
  
“What? But you were there!”  
  
“People will be suspicious if we aren’t talking, Courfeyrac. I need to concentrate.”  
  
“Oh! Yes, of course,” Courfeyrac said, and seemed to realize that he shouldn’t watch the illuminated path at their feet either.  
  
They wound their way leisurely through the streets, Courfeyrac talking animatedly about the opera, while Bossuet offered only the occasional opinion. His attention was divided between following the trail of sparks, and ensuring that no one looked too closely at them. All the while, he could feel Courfeyrac’s anxiety as acutely as his own pulse. He didn’t know how the other man managed it, constantly feeling the emotions of everyone around him. It was almost impossible to focus with the fear and tension of one other person. Invisible though his magic might be, Bossuet realized that Courfeyrac must be equally challenged by the complexities of his power.  
  
The trail of sparks led them to the law school, and Bossuet watched Courfeyrac’s posture dissolve. They would have to sneak in.  
  
“No one will be here this early, Courfeyrac,” he broke his concentration to consider their new problem, and the river of light faded away.  
  
“Yes, but how are we to get inside? If we break a window, someone will hear,” Courfeyrac chewed at his lip, eyes darting from one end of the street to another. There were more people out and about now that the sun was rising.  
  
Bossuet smiled, “No need. There’s a window on the far corner that doesn’t lock.” He led the way, glad he had remembered it. “There’s always a puddle on the floor after it rains.”  
  
With a series of not entirely graceful maneuvers, both men managed to climb through the window before anyone turned onto the street and caught sight of them. Sure enough, there was a pool of water beneath the sill. They stood silent for a long minute, listening for any sign that they had been discovered, but all was still.  
  
Quickly, Bossuet conjured up a new trail of sparks. They did not have to follow it for long. It led to Marius’s usual seat in the lecture hall, and Courfeyrac lit up with joy and relief.  
  
“Here it is!” a quick flip through the pages revealed the pamphlet still safely ensconced within.  
  
“A bit early for lecture, gentlemen.”  
  
They turned as one to see Blondeau standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Neither of them had heard him approach.  
  
Courfeyrac was immediately his most charming self, “Ah, forgive me. I had forgotten my notes.” He held up the little notebook to emphasize the point.  
  
The eyebrow arched a little higher, “Curious that your book came to be lost here, Monsieur de Courfeyrac, when Pontmercy vouched that you were too ill to attend class yesterday.”  
  
“It was the day before last. I had asked Marius to retrieve it for me while I was ah…indisposed. Some bad oysters, you understand,” he smiled, but Bossuet felt the anxiety rolling off him again, “He forgot, I’m afraid.”  
  
The professor did not look impressed. Instead, he wore that wicked grin Bossuet recognized all too well. “As you seem to be much improved, I expect to see you in lecture this afternoon, well prepared.”  
  
“Yes. Absolutely.”  
  
“As for you, Monsieur Lesgles, this is the third time—”  
  
“Fourth, actually,” Bossuet knew exactly where this was going, and he took pride in keeping so accurate a count. The second time had been a technicality due to a misspelling of his name.  
  
“—fourth time you’ve been struck from the roll. If you’ve come to beg for your place, I cannot offer you any hope.”  
  
“Perish the thought. I am only here to assist Courfeyrac in retrieving his notes.”  
  
Blondeau stared at each of them, searching for some sort of weakness in their story, some excuse to strike Courfeyrac from the roll as well. “Get out of my lecture hall. By the door, this time.”  
  
They did so with all haste, just barely containing their laughter until they had reached the street.  
  
“Did you see his face?” Courfeyrac clutched the notebook close to his chest as he shook with mirth, “I thought he was going to strike your name from heaven itself!”  
  
“And can you imagine our luck? The door was open the entire time!”  
  
A couple passing by gave the strange, laughing pair a wide berth, and crossed the street.  
  
Courfeyrac sobered first, and shook Bossuet’s hand “I cannot thank you enough, Bossuet. You have saved me in so many ways. Now I shall face neither the wrath of Blondeau’s pen nor the suspicion of the police.”  
  
“For the moment only, my friend.” Bossuet smiled, “Your hobbies lend themselves to attracting both.”  
  
“You are right, of course, but for today, at least, I have been spared. Come. Let us collect Joly, and I will treat you both to breakfast.”


End file.
